"Good girl," he praises, beginning to move both fingers together. "So tight around my fingers. Tomorrow you'll be this tight around my cock, and I'll have to work every inch inside you."
"This is just a taste," he says, voice dark with promise. "Tomorrow I'll fill you properly. Breed you. Make this tight little pussy take every inch of my cock until you're screaming."
I'm shaking now, that familiar tension building. His fingers curve inside me, finding a spot that makes me see stars.
"That's it," he encourages. "Come on my fingers. Show me how you'll come on my cock."
The combination of his fingers inside me and his thumb on my clit is too much. The orgasm crashes through me, harder than yesterday, more intense. I cry out, body clenching around his fingers, distantly aware that I'm soaking his hand.
He works me through it, fingers gentling but not stopping until I'm trembling and oversensitive.
When he finally withdraws his hand, I watch in shock as he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.
"Delicious," he says, eyes locked on mine. "Tomorrow I'm going to taste you properly. Put my mouth on this pussy and make you come on my tongue before I fuck you."
I'm still catching my breath when the doorbell rings.
He sighs. "That'll be Anya." He lifts me off his lap despite my wobbly legs, steadying me when I sway. "Don’t keep her waiting. You need a wedding dress."
"I don't want one."
"I don't care what you want." He brings his hand to my face, running his thumb across my bottom lip—the same thumb that was on my clit moments ago. "You're getting married tomorrow. You need a dress. Anya will help you find one."
"Are you coming?"
"No." Something flashes in his eyes. "Tradition. I don't see the dress until tomorrow. Until you walk down the aisle to become mine."
***
Anya Volkova is not what I expected.
She's elegant—perfectly styled blonde hair, expensive clothes, knowing eyes that seem to see too much. When Pyotr brings me downstairs, she's waiting in the foyer with a warm smile.
"Ready for dress shopping?" she asks.
I glance at Pyotr.
"She's ready," he answers for me. Then to Anya: "Thank you for taking her."
Anya waves him off. "Traditional groom anxiety. You're not allowed to see the dress before the wedding, Pyotr. It's bad luck." She links her arm through mine, already guiding me toward the door. "Come on, Vera. Let's find you something beautiful."
In the car, Anya is quiet for a while. Then: "I know what you're feeling."
I doubt that. "Do you?"
"Dimitri forced me too." She says it casually, like discussing the weather. "He took me as payment for my family's debt. Forced marriage. No choice. No out."
I stare at her. "What happened?"
"I hated him." She glances at me, eyes soft with understanding. "God, I hated him so much. Fought him every day. Tried to escape. But somewhere along the way..." She pauses. "I fell in love with him. Chose him. Every day I choose him."
"But he forced you."
"Yes." She doesn't flinch from it. "And Pyotr is forcing you. But, Vera..." She reaches over to squeeze my hand. "Your body wants him. I can tell. The way you look at him. The way you move around him. You're already halfway to surrender."
I want to deny it. Want to insist she's wrong.
But I think about this morning. About grinding on his lap. About how I came apart for him again.
